


Soldier of Fortune

by Chocolatpen



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Basically the Pretty Setter Squad are Super Soldiers, Gen, M/M, Military, Superpowers, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-20 05:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8238385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocolatpen/pseuds/Chocolatpen
Summary: Oikawa is a (mad) scientist who likes putting people back together, in more ways than one. A World War II Super Soldiers AU.





	1. Till We Meet Again

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Non-liner narrative, so please take note of the years  
> 2\. Researched my ass off but not everything is 100% accurate  
> 3\. Please excuse any mistakes/typos cause I'm literally walking dead by this point  
> 4\. Yay season 3 finally came out I'm happy again  
> 5\. If y'all are looking for a soundtrack, I listened to Grave of Fireflies' main theme while writing this
> 
> Yes, my life is a mess and I have no idea what I'm doing but please enjoy this anyway lmao (and also pretty please with cookies and milk leave some kudos/comments if you do :))

 

August 6th, 1945

Hiroshima, Japan

 

 

( _It all starts the same way it ends – in the deathly heat of fire and chaos all-consuming.)_

 

Sometimes, Tobio wonders if fate had truly carved a path of ruin for him, a road painted with the blood and tears of his family and his friends, of his homeland and the people who fought for everything they held dear. Sometimes, Tobio sits against the windowsill – _familiar, the same view for nineteen years_ – and directs his vibrant blue eyes to the heavens.

 

_Tooru is looking at the same sky._

_He is not looking at the same clouds, or the same cherry blossom tree, but he is looking at the same sun, and the same moon, and that is all Tobio can wish for._

 

There are many things he could dislike about his life, _many, many things_ , and there are about as many times he has questioned the heavens above about the things he’s done that must lead to a higher purpose. Tobio might have hated the pathway he had been sent on, if following it didn’t mean it brought him to Tooru’s side as well.

 

( _“-I’m so sorry, Tobio-chan, I just-” Tooru is crying against his shoulder, Tobio’s limbs weak and shaking even though he’s propped up against the headboard. “You wouldn’t wake up, you wouldn’t wake up and I didn’t know what to do so I-”_

_“It’s okay.” Tobio cuts Tooru off and looks the older boy in his brown, brown eyes. “Thank you.”_ )

 

Of course, he’d never imagined it would bring him here – to a hospital in Hiroshima, bedridden and wracked with migraines almost all his waking moments.

 

The peaceful, painless hours are Tobio’s favourite, because he can stare out the window without squinting at the brightness outside his room and imagine what the sun might feel like on his skin and dream about what it could be like to be by Tooru’s side yet again.

 

( _The first time they visits his parents’ graves, the raindrops slow to a stop, like time had somehow frozen still and the only movements left are Tobio’s tears still dripping down his cheeks.)_

 

Nineteen years is a long time to miss somebody, and an even longer time to be separated from someone he loves so dearly.

 

( _Two years, and no progress. The military wants Tooru to move on to something bigger._

_Tobio is dragging him down._ )

 

The war shortages have been hard on even the homeland, and Tobio has been pretending not to notice the gradual decline in the amount of pills they give him, the smaller doses of anesthetic, the continuously shrinking number of male staff.

 

( _“He’ll get the best treatment from me.” Tooru is shouting, so loudly they can hear him from inside the sick room. Suga’s hand tightens around Tobio’s. “I’m not leaving him behind!”_

_“You’re out of your mind if you think you can get away with dragging someone like that to the frontlines!” General Katase’s voice is booming, impossibly louder than Tooru. “He’s plagued with headaches, can’t go into the sun, can’t even walk by himself- No means no, Oikawa.”_ )

 

Tobio knows.

 

He knows of the war, of many things that he shouldn’t know, because of the many letters stacked up in his drawer, filled with Tooru’s neat, loopy kanji, telling him about the many places – Manchuria, Malaya, Ceylon, Shanghai – he’s been to the past years. The places Japan has _conquered_.

 

( _Tobio lets him go_ -)

 

The most recent letter tells Tobio that Tooru is near, docked in Nagasaki and on the way to visit him.

 

(- _but that doesn’t mean he misses Tooru any less_.)

 

Tobio feels happy, again, for the first time in many years. It’s the kind of happy that has his headaches receeding just a little and his heart flutter with feelings he can’t contain.

 

Nineteen years. It’s been _nineteen years_ since he’s last seen Tooru, besides the odd black-and-white photo he sometimes sends with his letters, introducing Tobio to Yahaba and Moniwa and Iwaizumi. That last one always strikes a chord in Tobio’s heart beause there’s something different about him, Tobio can tell. It’s the something different that Tobio used to be, before he shut Tooru out and pushed him away and trampled on his heart and-

 

The sound of wings beating against the air grows near.

 

It’s too loud to be any bird Tobio knows of yet too soft to be any propeller – it’s something out of a dream, like a forgotten memory that he hasn’t fully buried in the past.

 

Grey feathers flutter into the hospital room like delicate, ashen snowflakes; the only warning before a lithe figure is perched on Tobio’s windowsill – _unfamiliar, yet not, after so many years_ – large, angelic wings flapping once before folding neatly into themselves in the way Tobio has never gotten tired of.

 

“Suga.” Tobio breathes, fists clenched in the thin material of his stark-white blanket. His eyes are wide, as though he were trying to absorb every little detail and etch it permanently into the back of his eyelids.

 

“Kageyama, Kageyama, Kageyama,” Suga sweeps forward and enveloped him in a warm hug. Tobio’s arms circle around his neck, but then Suga’s wings are spreading again and he’s heading back towards the window. There is an air of tension around Suga, as though he’s stretched out taut and about to snap.

 

“Suga, what’s wrong? Where’s-” Tobio is cut off by a loud scream from the doorway, and a loud clatter when the nurse drops his medicine tray. She’s staring at them in horror as she backs away into a run. Tobio looks back at Suga’s wings, now half-spread in impatience, and frowns. “Where’s Tooru? Why do you look so distraught?”

 

Suga is in the air before Tobio can stop him, his ears popping as they soar through the skies effortlessly. Tobio frowns again when there is no reply. Reaching out mentally to tug at a wing, the younger of the two stifles a wave of guilt when Suga suddenly swerves dangerously in the sky.

 

“I need to get you out of here, as fast as possible.” Suga finally replies, when the tugs won’t stop and he can’t fly properly. He pauses, biting at his lower lip. “We received intel that there’s going to be a raid on Hiroshima. It’s the Americans.”

 

Tobio shakes his head, a low pounding starting at the back of his neck. It’s been a long time since he’s last used the gifts Tooru had given him. “Yes, there’ve been many raids the past few months, but they never target the hospital. I’ll be safe if you’ll just bring me back – I can’t be in the sun too long.”

 

“You don’t understand, Kageyama,” Suga makes a soft, exasperated noise. “It’s not a normal raid – they’re coming with an _atomic bomb_.”

 

Tobio’s entire world freezes, his heart pounding hard against his chest, as he registers the words. Atomic bomb. Those- he’s read about those before, at least in theory, and the repercussions of using it on a heavily populated city-

 

“Turn around!” Tobio gasps, and Suga almost drops him from the mental backlash Tobio unintentially released. “Turn around! Are you not going to do anything about all those people down there? They’re all going to die!”

 

“I-” Suga’s eyes are wide, and Tobio can see the helplessness clearly in his gaze. “Oikawa told me to get you out of Hiroshima before the blast.”

 

Tobio’s chin trembles slightly as he squeezes Suga’s arm. “Let me down.”

 

This is his chance. The chance Tobio’s been waiting for for nineteen long, lonely years spent in an isolated hospital room.

 

Yet, somehow, Tobio doesn’t feel like he should take it.

 

The longing is so painful it’s about to burst from his chest, but he just can’t bring himself to take the easy way out and allow Suga to bring him to Nagasaki – even if Tooru is there. He doesn’t want to leave behind all those innocent lives when he could very well save them, and he knows Suga, of all people, will understand.

 

“I’ll try to contain it as long as I can, so try to evacuate as many people as possible.” Tobio says, as Suga gently sets him down on the roof of one of the taller buildings in the city. The sun is making his vision swim, but he can deal with it; at least as long as it takes. There are tears clinging to Suga’s eyelashes as he leans down for a hug, and Tobio closes his eyes and indulges in his warmth. “Tell him that I missed him and I love him, okay? And… that I’m sorry I couldn’t see him one last time.”

 

Suga is gone much too quickly, streaming through the air faster than Tobio’s seen him fly before. There is nothing much else to do than to sit back and stare at the drifting clouds.

 

He hopes Tooru is looking up, at the same blue sky with the same sun and the same faded moon in the distance. Just to know is both too little and too much for Tobio.

The wail of sirens and nearing whirl of propellers have become familiar in the past few months, and it only takes a few minutes for Tobio to spot the approaching, ant-like figures in the sky.

 

( _The ground aches and groans and moves like a beast awakening from its slumber-_ )

 

The bomber is the largest plane, hatch opening to bare its fangs to the world.

 

(- _fire everywhere; licking up the walls, turning wood into charcoal, burning embers dancing wildly in the wind_ -)

 

Tobio blocks out the noises of the fleeing crowd and focuses like he’s not done since the first of September, 1923, when the Great Kanto Earthquake hit Tokyo.

 

(“ _He can’t reproduce something like that,” Tooru sounds defensive, but a half-delirious Tobio can’t understand why. “His human brain can’t cope with that much stress.”_

_“Then do something about it, you’re his creator aren’t you?” A gruff voice – General Katase? – replies, angrily. “The Emperor wants to know what saved a third of Tokyo from burning down._ ”)

 

The bomb falls, and falls, and then it slows to a stop above the city centre.

 

It takes an instant toll on Tobio, whose head feels like splitting apart from the inside; as though his skull is squeezing – _suffocating, crushing_ – his brain. Images from that day surface like fresh memories; the chaos and the panic and the melting heat.

 

(“ _I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong, Suga,” Tooru’s voice is high, a distraught tone that has Tobio pausing outside his office. “I’ve tried everything, but I can’t get it right. I can’t… I can’t fix Tobio_.”)

 

Tobio has always been the dark mark on Tooru’s name, his first and only failure.

 

But he’s not going to die as one, as well. No more sitting back and waiting, no more idly following the path of fate. Tobio is going to do good, and he’s going to succeed.

 

If only this made up for all the years he’s lost.

 

(“ _Listen – ‘_ _By some vile forfeit of untimely death. But He, that hath the steerage of my course, direct my sail.’” Tooru recites, looking up from his book. It’s an odd one, not even printed in Japanese, although Tooru seems to like his books that way. “Do you believe in fate, Tobio-chan?”_

_“I guess so.” Tobio hums, staring out the train window in an effort to spot Suga in the sky. Lush paddy fields pass by them in a blur of green. “I think each of us has a destiny they have to fulfill, so every choice we make and every path we choose will still lead back to the same thing, no matter what.”_

_There is a long silence, before Tooru is laughing. “Don’t blame everything on fate, Tobio-chan. You will always have a choice. Always._ ”)

 

The bomb wobbles, still suspended in the sky, as Tobio coughs violently into his hand. Pulling his palm away from his mouth, the black-haired boy isn’t surprised to see it splattered red. _Soon. His time is ending soon_.

 

Tobio feels himself losing his control over the bomb just as the edges of his vision fade to black, the warmth running from his nose tasting like rust.

 

_I hope I made you proud, Tooru._

 

( _It all starts the same way it ends – in the deathly heat of fire and chaos all-consuming._ )

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. See No Evil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really can't wait till Oikawa appears in the anime tomorrow!!! Also, this will be the last of anything I will post (hopefully) until December because my A levels starts next week T.T I somehow managed to push this out before I go on hiatus, and I apologise for any mistakes I overlooked ^^"
> 
> Hope you enjoy this <3 Thanks for your support!!

 

September 18th, 1931

Outskirts of Mukden, Manchuria

 

 

( _How do you describe colour to someone who cannot see?_ )

 

Kenma’s eyes narrow as he surveys the expansive forest spreading, seemingly, into the horizon; a sea of swaying emerald clashing with the vibrant, marine blue of the sky. A small, olive-green pass cuts through the thick of waving branches like a snake in movement.

 

“It is… 02:49 on the 18th of September, Year 1931. Participating subjects are: Akaashi Keiji, Kozume Kenma and Sugawara Koushi.” Akaashi’s voice, a low monotone dripping disinterest, recites into their radio set. “The mission is to eliminate all enemy communications towers. Are we good to go?”

 

( _How does one who does not see find a direction in which to live?_ )

 

“Affirmative.” Iwaizumi’s voice crackles in reply. Kenma can hear the hesitation in his tone – the officer is still not entirely comfortable with them, or with sending the equivalent of civilians into the battlefield. Even if they’re Oikawa’s frankenstein creations. “Stay safe. Oikawa will be monitoring you.”

 

“Alright. Going dark.” Akaashi says, as Kenma returns to scanning the tree tops. There are electrodes attached hurriedly onto their vital points, shifting rigidly with any movement. It’s uncomfortable and restricting, but they’re a part of Oikawa’s study – which, of course, means that Kenma can’t just tear them off.

 

( _Does it even matter, if all there is to life is the dark?_ )

 

The new hurdle lying before them is _Three-Dragon Pass_ – a winding trade route surrounded by sharp cliffs; its edges crumbling under the weight of a dynasty approaching ruin.

 

Kenma can understand how much of a strategic advantage the Manchurians have over their soldiers, and he can learn to accept that this treacherous pass has halted the advance of the Imperial Army for over a month, now. Foreign terrain always proves a hard adversary.

 

But Kenma is also certain that, with _their_ arrival at the frontlines, all of that will change.

 

They _will_ take this godforsaken Pass, and they will do it all _tonight_.

 

( _“I’m Oikawa Tooru.” The man – boy, if the lines of his face have any indication of his true age – introduces, smiling under Kenma’s fluttery touch. “Your father signed you up for a… rehabilitation programme, of sorts. I’m the head doctor.”_

_Kenma allows his hand to drop back down to his side. “You mean_ scientist _.”_ )

 

“Aerial visibility is low.” Sugawara’s voice crackles over the headset, the rush of wind muted in the background. To Kenma, his glowing, magenta form sticks out like a sore thumb against the backdrop of a dark blue sky. “Close to no moonlight, and heavy cover from the trees. They won’t be expecting an attack.”

 

“Good.” Akaashi answers into the radio, crossing his arms. Even covered by Oikawa’s special temperature-resistant gloves, they glow bright in contrast to the mild burgundy of his body – his right hand a blazing crimson, and his left a chilling blue.

 

( _“I guess, if you had to choose, then anger would be red.” Oikawa’s hums, the scratching of a pen on paper drawing closer. “It’s like feeling like you’re about to burst with uncontrollable emotion.. in a bad way.”_ )

 

The wind blows strong, but Kenma remains balanced on his perch on a tree branch. Eyes narrowing, he easily identifies the many scarlet forms dotting the sea of greens and blues and zeroes in on their first target of the night. “Two at D-14. Watchmen, and lightly armed. There are… about five more asleep, no weapons in sight. Easy pickings.”

 

Akaashi nods, fingers searching the crumpled map at his fingers, before giving Sugawara the go.

 

Immediately, the hovering figure tucks in his wings and dives, turning into a blur of red that disappears into the canopy of trees. Kenma’s headset fills with Sugawara’s breathing and the sound of bullets emptied in an indiscriminatory spray, but he turns his gaze away and focuses on finding their next target instead.

 

There is the short rustle of leaves, before Sugawara’s winged form is breaching the tree line and climbing back into the air – much like a fallen angel crawling out of hell, as Kenma notes. Oikawa has always loved mythology, but he has unfortunately failed to gift Kenma the power to turn people to stone.

 

“Next coordinates?” Sugawara requests through their headset, his voice too gentle. The gun strapped to his shoulder, once a cold cerulean against his burning fingertips, has now turned a dull carmine.

 

(“ _Green… It reminds me of Spring.” Sugawara’s voice is gentle, breaths slow and relaxed as Kenma’s fingers comb through impossibly soft feathers. “Freshness, like when you wake up after a good night’s sleep. Or when everything is new._ ”)

 

They manage to hit most of their targets by the time the first line of bright pink splits the sky open in a violent clash of colour.

 

Alarm bells clang desperately in the sea of emerald, intensity travelling like a wave across the length of the pass. Immediately realising that he’s been spotted, Sugawara climbs higher into the air; further than any bullet can reach, but dangerously close to the brewing strom.

 

Sparking maroon fires blossom like flowers as Akaashi curses softly beneath his breath, running a too-red through his hair. The curled, olive ends bounce back into place. “This can’t be helped. Return immediately, Sugawara-san.”

 

“Affirmative.” The next streak of electric-pink zig-zags through the sky as Sugawara spreads his wings to their full length – an impressive 10 feet – and heads in the direction of the Japanese camp. Lightning is already harrowing when on the ground, and Kenma doesn’t want to know what it’s like while exposed in the air.

 

(“ _Blue is sadness.” Oikawa is quiet, somehow, and there is a tone of something like finality in his voice. Kenma hears him swallow. “Blue is the numb feeling you get, in your chest, when you’re upset._ ”)

 

“We have the _Arisaka_ , don’t we?” Kenma asks quietly, as he watches Akaashi fold the map in on itself. Cobalt-blue and cardinal-red still as the other boy tilts his face upwards, looking Kenma right in the eye. It’s a foreign notion, and it still makes the hair on Kenma’s arms rise.

 

(“ _Blue is the colour of Tobio’s eyes_.”)

 

His new eyes – all-seeing, diamond-shaped pupils blown against the backdrop of startling yellow – spark more terror than any milky, unblinking depths ever could.

 

( _It is said so softly, so delicately, that Kenma pretends that he doesn’t hear it._ )

 

“I’m not leaving till we take out that last comms tower.” Kenma elaborates, long digits fiddling lightly with the elctrodes still stuck to his sweat-moist skin. “The trees will provide enough cover. Oikawa-san will throw a fit if we leave now.”

 

It’s a blatant lie, and Akaashi knows it too. Oikawa values their safety above even his prized results, and everyone knows _why_ that is.

 

The pause is a little longer than usual, but then Akaashi is tossing Kenma’s prized sniper rifle to him and nodding as he slips off his gloves. “Go where you need to. I’ll cover your back.”

 

( _Kenma used to see through touches; nothing more than the shadows on the tips of his fingers. He used to wander around aimlessly, with no sense of direction save for the commands of his terrifying nanny._

_Now, Kenma sees in many different ways._

_He sees the reds and the greens and the blues – or at least, it’s what Oikawa is telling him the colours are called. He sees faraway places like they’re right in front of him, and Oikawa tells him that his night vision is unparalleled._ )

 

“Here’s fine.” Kenma notes out loud, a few metres past no man’s land. His lithe body easily slips through dying leaves – turning green, even though they’re normally red to him – to find the perfect branch. Finger taut and ready on the trigger, Kenma lies on his front and closes one eye. “Three- no, Four, all looking to the skies. Give me… three minutes.”

 

He hears the leaves rustling from below, and the padding of feet on the ground, but his attention is focused – scarily so – on the glowing bodies at the makeshift control tower.

 

( _He directs his gaze to the West, to Germany, where their country is heading to, and he finds that this life of endless fighting is a life he’s yearned for. A life that is a glowing light in his infinite darkness._

_A life that has given him_ direction _._ )

 

One goes down like a stone in the ocean, red flickering into dark green, and then Kenma is on to the next.

 

( _Has it really_?)

 

There is the faint sound of a scuffle from below. Shuffling, at most, and never a fight – not when a Akaashi’s touch is as fatal as it is. Kenma narrows his eyes, and watches as another body falls to the ground.

 

(“ _Take this.” General Katase orders, dropping something heavy and metallic into Kenma’s soft palms. The colours around him fluctuate with movement, and he blinks his eyes in an attempt to adjust to his new sight._

_The General does not understand. He is impatient, but equally as unwilling to look into Kenma’s gaze._

_“This is a gun.” Katase continues, speaking above Oikawa’s disapproving noises. He steps forward and crosses his arms. “In exchange for the costly medicines that maintain your eyesight, you’re going to use this, and you’re going to kill people in the name of the Imperial Army_.”)

 

The smell of burnt flesh is wafting through the air when Kenma finishes off the last two. Pulling away from the scope, he locates Akaashi standing by the tree trunk; steam rising from the palm curled around another man’s face.

 

( _Returning his eyesight was like waking a monster, Kenma thinks._

_He’s a monster.)_

 

Kenma sighs through his nose, kicking his dangling legs in impatience – the man is long dead. Akaashi just wants his meat well done.

 

( _Sometimes, Kenma wonders what normal people see, in place of the shapes of red and green and blue. Sometimes, he wonders if he’d given up his world of darkness and ignorance only to trade it with another that is so close and yet so far._

_A world with many other colours, and shades, and shadows and light, must be a world that is just_ more _than his own_.)

 

“You’re done?” Akaashi asks, when Kenma hops to the ground. Wordlessly, the latter prods a sapphire-blue body with the muzzle of his gun and watches it shatters into tiny pieces.

 

( _An eye for an eye and the world goes blind_.)

 

Akaashi finally lets go of the man, and his charred corpse falls to the ground with a dull thud. The colours fluctuate and flutter, blues and reds and greens almost electric as they dance in the vision of death.

 

( _Wouldn’t that be a better world, indeed_?)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
